


Four Cheese Canoli

by DocDimebag



Series: A Song of Icees and Flaming Hot Cheetos [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Crack, M/M, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:36:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8415844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DocDimebag/pseuds/DocDimebag
Summary: Stannis is a fire hazard.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WHATCHA THINK?

Stannis felt the needle like pains begin in his head right behind his eyes toward the end of his fourteenth hour on duty and by the time he made it to the 24-hour grocery store by his house to pick up a handful of Lean Cuisines and packaged oatmeal it was settling into a full blown migraine. He only narrowly caught himself before sniping at the cashier but didn’t bother to conceal his look of displeasure as two teenagers stumbled into him on his way out. 

 

He’d spent the entire day dealing with petty crimes; listening to Cersi Baratheon gripe at him over the phone about how she suspects her gardeners of not working full shifts and having to reluctantly let her brother Tyrion out of the drunk tank once he proved he was infact sober. When he was a child he had always looked up to authority figures, respected them, understood that they made sacrifices in their lives for the greater good of the community. 

 

As it turns out, being Police Chief of Westeros means spending your days hiding in bushes clocking speed violators and nights driving around looking for teenagers parked in cars. 

 

He pulled up to his apartment complex, a quiet area filled mostly with single professionals or older couples, only a few serious students here and there. He thankfully lived on the bottom floor, allowing him to slip easily from his car to his front door without the added burden of running into ‘neighbors’. He despised the forced sort of conversations they always seemed to want to drag him into. 

 

He pulled into his carport and cut the engine. His head was throbbing, the single street lamp that lit the short concrete path from his car to his door searing into his eyes. He bundled up the small brown bag of groceries from the passenger's seat. 

 

He managed to trip twice in the ten yard walk. 

 

Once inside he flipped on only a dim light in the kitchen and a floor lamp on the far end of the sparsely decorated living room. He didn’t have a television, didn’t believe that television was worth his time in the least. Instead he had an old roll-top desk against one wall with a wall of bookshelves extending past it to a sliding door that lead to a small patio. Against the other wall was an old sofa, a small end table on which sat a small stone water fountain of the sort used only to create the soft murmuring of water in the empty air of the apartment. In the center was a coffee table. 

 

Stannis turned the oven on and stuck all but one of the frozen entrees into the freezer and left the instant oatmeal on the counter by the coffee pot. Back in his single room he toed out of his work boots, hung his uniform on its appropriate hook on the inside of the closet door and removed the gun from its holder. He checked the safety and set it on the bedside table. In the bathroom he took down two bottles from his neatly stocked medicine cabinet: a bottle of Excedrin and a prescription bottle of Vicodin. He popped two of each before pausing. Against his better judgement he popped a third Vicodin, hoping it would both help alleviate his headache, his irritation, and help slip him into a deep sleep from which he never awoke. 

 

Stannis was not much impressed with his own life. 

 

Back in the kitchen he slid one of the Lean Cuisines into the oven and set a timer before laying down on the couch in the dim light of the living room, an arm flung over his eyes as he waited for the various pains, both physical and non, to be leached from his head. 

 

\----

 

Smoke. He smelled smoke. And heard screeching. Goddamn screeching. Stannis sat bolt upright on his couch and swung his head around, only to be greeted by the sight of his front door being kicked in by figures dressed in yellow, difficult to make out beyond the thick black smoke that was engulfing his kitchen. 

 

His stomach sank and his body went cold. 

 

“Cheif. Cheif, are you alright?” said a muffled but familiar voice from the nearest firefighter who came to kneel beside him. 

 

“I’m fi-” he began to cough on the smoke “-fine” he managed to wheeze out. 

 

“Here-” and the figure was pulling off his own mask and Stannis’s already cold body seemed to go into rigor mortis. Jon Snow handed him his oxygen mask insistently. “Really. It’s not bad, but you’ve been breathing it for who knows how long. Here.” He reached over Stannis’s head to put the mask on for him before Stannis came to himself and snatched it out of the air. 

 

“I can do that-” more coughing “-that just fine.” He slipped the mask on and inhaled and immediately felt light headed. In the kitchen someone had turned off and opened the destroyed oven, blasting it with an extinguisher. 

 

There goes dinner. 

 

Jon helped Stannis to his feet and for the first time in a long time Stannis was reminded of just how strong the young man was. Not that it hadn’t been obvious from the calendar. Which Stannis had only seen for a moment. A very brief moment. And never thought about again. 

 

“You’ll just have to wait out here for a little while, make sure they got everything first. The medics are probably going to want to make sure you’re okay as well-” Jon said to him once they were finally out of his smoky apartment. It was then that Stannis realized he was standing in front of his house, his apartment, dressed in a worn Eagles t-shirt, his boxers, socks and braces. If he had been a connoisseur of humiliations, this would be a prized vintage. 

 

“Tell them I’m fine. I just fell asleep, had a headache so I took something for it and didn’t hear the timer.”

 

“Or the smoke alarm.” Jon added and Stannis gave him a pointed look. “You’ll probably want to stay elsewhere tonight. It’ll take a while for the place to air out, clean up the damage and what not.”

 

Defeated, Stannis sat on the hood of his car and watched as the plumes of smoke issuing from his open door slowly lessened as firefighters came out holding empty extinguishers and axes they had used to do who knows what to his kitchen. His rented kitchen. 

 

“What was in the oven?” He heard Jon ask and it took him a moment to realize it was him that he was talking to. 

 

“A frozen dinner. One of those Lean Cuisine things.” He said, admitting defeat. Snow had already broken down his door and literally dragged him out of his own burning home while he was half naked, he had no shame left now. 

 

“Huh.” Jon paused for a moment. “It didn’t happen to be the four cheese cannelloni one, did it?” He asked curiously. Stannis nodded. 

 

“I thought it smelled familiar. That’s a bummer. That one’s my favorite.”

**Author's Note:**

> As usual written for and with the inspiration of my Bobbles. 
> 
> Review are greatly appreciated!


End file.
